Chapter 3: The Human

When Elec Man returned to Fulmen Financial, he still felt a little annoyed with Pharaoh Man. Elec Man felt he had had a point—as Syndicate Robot Masters, they shouldn't be too sentimental, for as Pharaoh Man had said, if anything had happened to one, the other would be obligated to put the good of the Syndicate first. It was a given in their line of work, though perhaps Elec Man should have been more respectful. He still felt ashamed for panicking, as he usually had full command of emotions—though he still had one deep fear.

While Elec Man was built with the best technology a Robot Master could have, he was not without a design flaw: too much exposure to water would cause his Thunder Beam to backfire, which could be fatal. It couldn't be fixed, and because of the flaw, his creator had been hesitant to station him so far away, regardless of Elec Man's unsurpassed skill. But Elec Man was determined not to be treated like a child. He was proving himself to be just as competent as a Robot Master without a design flaw. Besides, he had his weakness toward water under control.

Despite the dangers, Elec Man considered his role within the Syndicate to be a good one. It was an honor to work with the experienced Pharaoh Man in territory yet to be Syndicate controlled. Though he didn't care for humans or crowds much, he didn't mind New York City, especially at night. It was dirty and old, but there was still beauty and sophistication in its architecture on the civilian side of the city beyond the criminal Underground. Its thriving cosmopolitan energy kept things interesting. Overall, New York City had the feeling of being one of the best places in the world.

It was also home to the best roboticist in the world: Dr. Thomas Light.

…Technically, Dr. Light's laboratory was north of the city, though most New Yorkers still proudly claimed him as one of their own. For the past thirty years, Dr. Light had been making pioneering advancements in robotics and science, each invention making the world a better place for humans and robots alike.

It felt disloyal to think of Dr. Light as the greatest roboticist when Elec Man's own creator had seemingly unparalleled skill, yet his creator considered Dr. Light to be the best, so it must be true. Elec Man doubted there was anyone alive who didn't think Dr. Light was brilliant or at least appreciated his humanitarian work. At one time, Dr. Light had been expected to build great machines, usher in yet another advancement in robotics, invent the masterpiece of a lifetime—

But Dr. Light had not publicly built robots in years. It was strange, for he had been in the height of his career and only in his mid-fifties, but in many ways he now acted retired, only taking on small contracts, lecturing at the University of Robotics, and in general staying out of the spotlight. Elec Man found this a bit disappointing. Still, Dr. Light's quiet, humble prestige could be felt throughout the city like a golden warmth, and being so close to the one roboticist his creator deemed superior (or as close as a gangster robot could be to a civilian of such high esteem), well…it was certainly something.

By the next day, Elec Man's pride was fully intact again. While sitting at Fulmen Financial's front desk disguised a human in his black suit, he was busy analyzing the hard drive Pharaoh Man had given him on his computer. Pharaoh Man was right, the files contained valuable business dealings on an enemy, and Elec Man began strategizing how best to leverage this new acquisition to the Syndicate's advantage—

The sliding front doors opened with a soft hiss. Quickly tabbing out of his work, Elec Man looked up, his sight catching on a human walking toward him in a suit.

Elec Man liked suits, their smell, the feel of expensive material, the way people looked wearing them—it was one of the few human things he could appreciate.

…This suit looked sad, like it had hung unclaimed on a rack for a decade, only to be donated at a second-hand store, worn once to a funeral, then stuffed at the bottom of a storage bin with mothballs for another decade. Elec Man's eyes shifted from its cardboard brown color, the lack of tie, the way the machine-stitched polyester puckered around the boxy shoulder pads—

"Hey…I'm looking for the Syndicate," a voice announced boldly.

For a moment, Elec Man was too appalled by the suit to register what the human had said. It was an effort to drag his eyes off this walking catastrophe up to the human's face. This, in a jarring contrast, was pleasant. The human had A-list movie actor looks with carelessly styled chestnut hair and mirrored aviators covering his eyes. The combination did not add up. What human who looked like this didn't know how to put on a suit? Why bother wearing a suit at all? Even the customary dress code of mobsters should have been put aside to avoid such a disgrace!

Recalling himself, Elec Man quickly assumed a blank mask-like face. "The what?"

"The Syndicate," the human repeated helpfully.

Elec Man shrugged unhelpfully. "Sorry, I've never heard of it."

The human stared at Elec Man for a moment in confusion, then gave him a bright, dimpled smile. "No guards? That seems a little gutsy for the secretary of America's biggest mob."

Elec Man could tell this human was going to be difficult. He didn't look like a criminal, he looked like a civilian, perhaps a lost frat boy—or more accurately, a slacker blowing off classes. What was this, some sort of prank or dare? But civilians didn't just happen to know about the Syndicate; the Syndicate was a secret entity known only to criminals and occasionally, when strictly necessary, law enforcement. It was extremely irregular, but mostly, Elec Man was annoyed because he was too important to deal with this.

"I'm not a secretary, and I work for Fulmen Financial." He pointed to the name tag on his desk: Fulmen Financial, Mr. Smith, prepared to offer nothing but continued denial and obstinance, as was protocol toward civilians. Things would have been different if the human had been a criminal...

The human's smile only broadened. "Riiiight. You can save the act, wiseguy. I know this is the New York headquarters for Syndicate."

"Prove it."

"…Is that how it's going to be?"

Elec Man wrinkled his nose. This human was certainly brash. He looked the same age as 'Mr. Smith' (Elec Man's human disguise) and seemed to be trying to cajole 'Mr. Smith' as though they were peers. Of course, the human had no idea Elec Man was really an android; a human civilian and a Syndicate Robot Master couldn't have been further apart if they lived on two different planets. "If you do not have an appointment, please leave."

"How do I get an appointment?"

Elec Man returned the smile. "You can't."

How did Pharaoh Man kick out unwanted civilians from the Cleopatra? Shut down the bars and casino pits and wait for them to get bored and leave, Elec Man recalled. There was nothing more annoying than dealing with oblivious civilians—yet civilians who stumbled upon the Cleopatra had no clue what the Syndicate was—this human did.

Elec Man studied the human more closely, ignoring the suit to instead focus on his face. He looked like he should be much more clever than he was currently acting. The mirrored aviators were a bit old-fashioned, yet suited his looks perfectly. Some humans wore shades to appear intimidating, others to conceal their tells like inexperienced poker players. Elec Man felt this human fell into the latter group, though he wasn't sure why he bothered—Elec Man could read him easily. Despite the cheap suit, the human had the subtle mannerisms of someone who had grown up well off. Secondly, he was an extreme loner—for if he had even one real friend, they would have warned him to stay far away from the Syndicate. And finally, the human was a thrill junkie to be so attracted to crime when he had no apparent need for it. No mysteries here. Yet the human acted with a sly fearlessness of someone with a grand secret…

Elec Man didn't have time to care about the secrets of a civilian...though he bet he could easily figure it out if he ever bothered.

As he peered into the mirrored aviators, Elec Man could see himself reflected twice, his cold, pale blue eyes maintaining flat, unyielding contact. He never concealed his own eyes, for his piercing killer stare was one of his most useful assets.

But the human was completely unaffected by the stare. He continued to smirk and talk in a light, friendly tone.

"Listen, Mr. Smith—Smith isn't your real name, is it?"

Elec Man dropped pretenses. "Of course not."

"Whatever. I'm looking for an investor in a start-up me and my partner are creating. I'd like to have a chat with your boss, or at least the Robot Master in charge here—"

There seemed no limit to the human's arrogance as he persisted in attempting to pass himself off as a criminal. "My boss is not interested."

"Pardon?"

"I said he's not interested."

The human looked down at the phone on Elec Man's desk. "But you haven't even checked—"

Elec Man smiled again.

The human hesitated. "Hear me out. My partner, Dr. Wily, builds robots—"

"Haven't heard of him," Elec Man interrupted, picturing a seedy, low-level fraud in an equally bad suit. "The Syndicate doesn't do business with second-rate amateurs. It's ran by people much smarter than Mr. Willy."

"Wily."

"Whatever." Elec Man wrinkled his nose again. "…Is his surname really Wily?"

"Yes. …I think."

"And your name is?"

"Eric McEricson."

"No it's not."

"It's the name I'm going by here, 'Smith.'"

"Smart." Elec Man lowered his voice, leaned forward slightly in his chair as he continued to stare piercingly into the mirrored aviators, and advised very seriously, "I don't know how you heard of this place, but leave. Now."

As if finally realizing he wasn't getting anywhere, the human took a step back from the desk. "Alright, chill out, I'll let you guys think it over. You will let the Robot Master in charge know I was here?"

"He knows."

...Of all the things the human could have done, inquiring directly after the Robot Master of Fulmen Financial was definitely the oddest...and most rash.

"Oh." The human looked stupidly around the lobby for a moment as if expecting to find a Robot Master somewhere other than plain sight, then giving up, said, "Well, later…Smith."

The human strutted toward the slide doors, the ill-fitting brown suit pinching and creasing across his back as he moved, the worn loafers shuffling on the clean white tiles, his stance completely relaxed and confident. Elec Man couldn't help but watch him go with a deep frown before turning his attention back to his computer and the real business of real criminals.

The human seemed heedless to the jeopardy a civilian snooping around in the Underground put himself in. The dearly departed Copper Lugnut Gang would have cut up his smug, handsome face. The Iron Bolt Brotherhood would have fed him and his bad suit to their pet tigers. The Good Boys Guild would have left him off worse than dead. This, of course, wasn't the Syndicate's way—but the Underground was no place for a civilian.

Perhaps, in a small part of his conscience, Elec Man should have somehow intervened by reporting the human or otherwise thwarting his budding criminal ambitions. But he did not. Let the human throw away his own life if he was so foolish. Elec Man doubted Pharaoh Man would have handled the situation any differently, for what could be a bigger waste of everyone's time than a civilian dabbling with crime in the Underground? That idiot will be dead in a week.

It was a shame…but not his problem.